Wind Race
There was a distant mournful pitch
a tease that played push and pull with the clouds
fierce, frightful, frenzied perpetual motion,
cirrus, cumulus, altostratus mix at play;
first,
grays, darkened purples, subtle blue patches of fluff and stuff
icy white tinged ivories that cling to every gust;
riding in on the restless racing zephyr winds
tossed and tumbled, twisted and teased through the trees
whipping, swaying, bouncing up and down repeatedly;
a lurch, a bend, a breaking twig on every branch
catkins and samaras of sugar maple glide
clutching in the discordant snips and snags of huffs and puffs
riders in the wind, catching transport in every breezy gale
rushing untethered from west to east, north to south
in the race to reach the open air freed upon the seas.
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